


Give & Take Chs.10-11-12

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: "Did you get what you want? Do you mind that it hurt me? Because you're breaking my heart." ©Tennant/Lowe





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my LJ in 2008  
> 26 chapters  
> I am not a psychologist or psychiatrist and do not have a medical degree

GIVE AND TAKE   

Ch.10 (Brian's POV)

                                                            _“Well, either you’re closing your eyes to a situation you do not wish to acknowledge,_  
                                                              _Or you are not aware of the caliber of disaster indicated.”   ©M.Wilson_  
  
     It was another late, very late night. Seated around a conference room table strewn with a multitude of books, papers, and magazines, Kinnetik's best and brightest were doing their best not to burn out, not to throw in the towel. They knew what was at stake. It wasn't just the agency's future. It was their own as well.  
  
“...So that’s where we are with the phrasing for the first part,” Dennis continued. “It’s pretty much a done deal.  Steve and Kara are finished with the art work, Beth and Mike are in the middle of their research for the second phase, and Greg and Susan have some great ideas for the visual which we'd roll out about two months later. That’s about it. We’re pretty much on target for the deadline, Brian. Anything we missed?” Met with dead silence, he shot a helpless look at Cynthia.  
  
     She cleared her throat as worried glances skittered around the room like dominoes. “Brian, do you want to make any changes before the ad goes to the printer?”  
  
     Listening with half an ear to the progress for the Dynamics campaign, Brian rocked in his chair and surreptitiously checked his phone for the fourth time. Either Justin had his cell turned off or he was ignoring his calls. Both scenarios churned in his stomach like a fully loaded cement mixer. He didn't like it.                

                                   “ **Uncertainty is the worst of all evils until the moment when reality makes us regret uncertainty.”** _A.Karr_  
  
     He shuttered his eyes and reopened them so fast the motion could have been a blink. But a blink was all he needed to slide the mask in place. Animals couldn't slip or show weakness if they wanted to survive, a lesson he had learned too well.  
  
    “Let’s take a break,” he ordered. “It’s late and no one’s eaten. Get a quick bite, and we’ll meet back here in about an hour.” He paused at the door and addressed the updates with staccato-like, bullet point efficiency. “Have Steve and Kara check in with me. I might want to change the font. Tell Mike to get his ass to the library, not just trawl web sites, and check their news microfilm for any articles we might have missed, and I do mean _any_ articles, even in the fucking society pages. Have Greg and Susan write up what they have so I can look it over on the weekend.”  
  
     Before disappearing into the darkened hallway, he added, “And don’t use the entire entertainment budget stuffing yourselves. See you later.”  
  
     Cynthia rushed out as whispers increased to full blown chatter at the out-of-character dinner break and the in-character compartmentalization of all things Kinnetik.  
  
                                                                                                          * * * *  
    “Brian?” She trotted to keep up with his long strides. “Brian?”  
  
    “What?”  
  
    “All right, Mr. Kinney, hold on a damn minute!”

                                                                                      

    He whirled around and uttered one word in the middle of an exasperated hiss of air. _“What?”_  
  
    The look on his face squelched her full-scale rant. He wore that look for only one person—Justin Taylor. _He's worried._ She sighed and tucked her anger back inside. “Hey, I’m on your side, remember? Don’t worry. I’ll keep the troops fat and happy until you get back.”  
  
     He narrowed one eye in a knowing squint. “I suppose this means I’ll owe you?”  
  
     She retraced her steps, walking backward toward the double glass doors of the conference room. “Yep, I’ll add it to the list, the very long list. Go. Do what you have to do.”  
                                                
                                                                                                          * * * *  
     He screeched to a halt in front of the loft and climbed the stairs two at a time. Was the loud pounding his footsteps or his heartbeat? Pinpricks of anxiety flitted across his skin as he tugged at the door and gave a cursory glance. Everything was in place, exactly as it should be, except for one detail—Justin. _Don't start imagining things. Settle down._  
  
     After two healthy shots of Beam, he struggled to make sense of the puzzle that was now his life. Within the parameters of his own moral code, not only couldn’t he blame Justin for anything he did or didn't do, he also didn't have the right. But the rationale couldn't erase the bitter taste in his mouth.  
  
     Another check of the phone, another punch of the speed dial, another tersely worded message. “Answer your damn phone.” He fled into the night guided by finely honed intuition and drove straight to Babylon.  
  
                                                                                                          * * * *  
     With an uncharacteristic wish for anonymity, he weaved among the gyrating bodies and headed toward the catwalk for an advantageous view. _Seek._ Like a reconnaissance soldier, rifle scope eyes scanned the cavernous space. _Aim._ He pinpointed his target at the bar and should have loosened his white-knuckled grip on the railing for the kill shot. But he didn’t. _Abort._ Because an unfamiliar dark blond glanced over his shoulder as he swaggered toward the back room and was soon followed by a familiar flaxen blond, one he knew too well. _Failure._

_                                                                “Well, I was there and I saw what you did. I saw it with my own two eyes.  
                                                                The hurt doesn’t show, but the pain still grows. It’s no stranger to you and me.” ©P.Collins  _

__

      For an infinitesimal second, the facade crumbled, but the forbidding jaw returned in a flash. He tugged at the knot of his tie and wrenched it from his neck as he made his way to the bar. Normally he would have elbowed his way to a prime location. Instead, he settled for an unobtrusive corner and motioned to the bartender.  
  
    “Hey, Brian! How’s it going?” Greg lined up the usual number of glasses. “A little over dressed for Babylon, don’t you think?”  
  
     He downed one shot, grimaced, and made swift work of the other two. “What can I say? I'm a trendsetter. Hit me with another round.” He met the wary look with a glare. “Haven't you seen me drink before?”  
  
     Greg raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, no problem! That’s why I’m here, to supply you with liquor you’re generously paying for.” He grabbed the bottle of Beam. “Tell you what, I’ll even refresh one on the house.”  
  
    “You’re too good to me.” He caught the spark in the other man’s eyes. “Not that good.”  
  
     Called by impatient customers at the other end of the bar, Greg threw over his shoulder, “And not for lack of trying.”  
  
     _In your dreams, pal._ His gaze drifted to the dance floor. Maybe he could find something or someone to distract him from himself. But the sweaty bodies did nothing for him, did nothing to him. _Pathetic, Kinney._ He refocused his attention on the muscular bartender when he returned with a crate of glasses. “Looks like a good crowd,” he said.  
  
    “Uh, yeah, pretty good for a week night.”  
  
     He chugged the rested of his drink. “This really is some good shit!”  
  
    “If anyone would know, you would.”  
  
     “Mikey and the Professor been in?”  
  
     “Haven't seen them.”  
  
     “What about Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?”  
  
      Greg looked up from restocking the clean glasses and leaned against the bar. “Jeez, Kinney, what the fuck is this? Twenty questions? You're awfully chatty tonight.”  
                                                                                     

       “Just being sociable. You know, the art of conversation and crap.”  
  
      “Whatever. Emmett and Ted haven't been in either. What’s with you guys, anyway? There used to be a time when all of you had to be pried out of here with a crow bar.”  
  
      “Yeah, well, things change, people change.” Christ! He was going down the lonesome road of gin mills and Frank Sinatra, for fuck sake. “So, you see Justin tonight?”   
                                                                   “ _It’s quarter to three. There’s no one in the place, except you and me._  
_So set’em up, Joe. I got a little story I think you should know.” ©Mercer/Arlen_  
  
                                                                                                           * * * *

        Greg searched under the bar for another bottle of Beam. Sociable my ass. The pseudo pleasantries had been nothing more than a prelude to that one loaded question. His excellent people skills and bartending expertise had served him well, lucratively and sexually, but he wasn't paid enough to go head-to-head against Brian Kinney. He rose from his crouched position and placed an open bottle on the shelf behind him. Might as well get it over with. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did.”  
  
       “He still here?”  
  
        He made a show of counting bottles for unnecessary inventory and gave a distracted answer. “I'm not the zoo keeper around here. How the fuck do I know? I don't keep track of everyone.”  
  
        Brian motioned him closer. “Don't bullshit a bullshitter,” he said in a deadly voice. “I could see through you a mile away. Practice harder at being an asshole. It shouldn't be too much of a reach.”

                                                                                                          * * * *

                                                             **I never dared to dream, so I never had to worry about them coming true  
                                                                   until one night, a golden angel appeared to me with his sunshine smile and eyes of blue.  
                                                           "If you only knew," he loudly cried, "How hard it was to love you."  
                                                          "If you only knew," I softly sighed, "How hard it was to love you, too." **_©Kin_  
  
        Even though his arrow wasn't aimed at the bartender—he was simply the unfortunate victim in his line of fire—the vitriol flowed off Brian's tongue effortlessly. _Get a fucking grip._ He couldn't get unhinged, not here, not now. He had to leave before he said or did something he'd really regret. He threw back the last of his drink and the room did an unexpected spin. Not a good idea to deplete Babylon of its liquor supply on an empty stomach. He scooped up his money, but a voice stoppped him in in his tracks.  
  
       “Two beers.”  
  
       “Well, well, if it isn’t the omniscient Dr. Wilder! Haven’t seen you in here lately.”  
  
                                                                                                           * * * *  
  
         Alex took in the bloodshot eyes and the slurred speech. Nothing unusual but the combination with forced indifference spelled trouble. “Brian, big surprise finding _you_ here.”  
  
_“Trouble, oh we got trouble._ _Right here in River City_ _with a capital T!”_ _©M.Wilson_  
  
        “What happened, Doc? Woody’s close you down?”  
  
        “Ah, no, not quite. How’ve you been?”  
  
        “Me? I’m fabulous! Fabulouso! Absolutely fabulous!”  
  
         _Sure you are._ He didn't think twice about asking the all-important question. “How’s Justin?” The instantaneous change in posture and demeanor told him what he needed to know.  
  
        “Justin? Justin Taylor? I think right now, at this very moment, he’s doing just fine!”  
  
         He didn't comment on the meaning behind the sarcasm. You had to be on high alert when Brian was sober to withstand his razor sharp jibe or cutting put down, but drunk? That required a higher level of self-preservation skills. “I meant, how’s he doing overall?”  
  
        “Oh, that’s different. You know what, Dr. Wilder?” Brian stared at his empty glass and a bitter laugh escaped. “I honestly don’t fucking know. Why don’t you ask him? Piece of advice, though. Don’t try calling him. He doesn’t answer his phone or messages. And don’t try living with him,” he gritted out. “You’ll wind up in a pissing contest or playing hide-and-seek. Only guess what? No one’s seeking!” He blew out an inebriated breath. “I gotta go.”  
  
         He placed a cautious hand on Brian’s arm. “No one’s perfect, you know. Everybody makes mistakes. It’s what you do afterwards that makes or breaks you and defines you.”  
  
        “Is that the classic playbook line they teach you in shrink school?”  
  
        “Not even close. Just words of wisdom from years of practice." He leaned in and whispered, “Take it for what it’s worth.”  
  
        “As usual, you make too much sense when you're sober and I’m drunk.”  
  
        “That’s the idea.”  
  
          Brian pushed away from the bar. “I really do have to go. See you around.”  
  
        “Kinney, remember what I said.” His only acknowledgement was a backward hand wave.  
  
                                                                                                           * * * *  
  
          The bitter chill stung Brian's face like a vicious slap. Muttering a string of curses, he started the car, turned the heat up full blast and pulled out his phone. He didn't bother checking for messages—there wouldn't be any—and pressed speed dial.   
  
         “You rang, your Majesty?”  
  
          “Do I still have money in the coffer after my bountiful generosity?”  
  
          “Most definitely, Sire. I made sure that everyone ordered from the 99¢ menu.”  
  
          “I’ll ignore your lame attempt at humor at my expense.”  
  
          “Who, moi? Are you kidding? I love my job!”  
  
          “Fuck you too. Listen, I’m not coming back tonight. Can you handle the rest of it?”  
  
          “Hell, yeah! It’ll give me a chance for a power trip. You know, wield a big stick and shit. Metaphorically speaking about the big stick. That’s your  department.” Cynthia's snicker filtered through the phone. “Besides, I don’t feel as if I do enough to warrant my kick ass salary.”  
  
          “Angling for a raise?”  
  
          “Hey, whatever floats your boat to show your undying appreciation for my services to Kinnetik's founding father.”  
  
          “Tell you what, I’ll buy you lunch next week, any day, any place. You choose.”  
  
          “Ooh, decisions, decisions! Let’s see, Mickey D’s or Burger King? Hmm, I have to give this serious thought.”  
  
          “You do that.”  
  
          “Brian, wait a sec! Dennis received a call while he was at dinner. Seems someone hacked into his phone account, so he spent most of his generous free time straightening it out. Anyway, long story short, he has a new cell number. Since you’re not coming back, let me give it to you now. It's 412—"  
  
          “Hold on a fuck, will you? I need paper. Fuck!” He found a random business card in his jacket pocket. “Okay, shoot.”  
  
          “Did you really write it down?”  
  
           Bleary-eyed, he tried to decipher the scribbled numbers, then shoved the card back into the pocket. “Yes, I wrote it down, but why the fuck does it matter? Does he think I'm going to call him in the middle of the night?”  
  
          “Uh, Brian?”  
  
          “Yeah, forget I said that.”  
  
          “Said what? Be careful, Mr. Kinney.”  
  
          “No such luck.”  
                                                                                                            * * * *  
  
            Anxious to shed reminders of the day and night, he peeled off his clothes like layers of skin and hurriedly showered. Even his dick, in a bizarre act of rebellion, said, “Not tonight.”  
  
            He tossed his underwear in the hamper and his shirt on the pile of to be dry cleaned. He was about to do the same with his suit, but as sobriety slowly returned, he remembered Dennis's phone number. He stared at the scrawl. Christ, how the hell did he make it home in one piece?  Fingering the card between his thumb and index finger, he tapped it against his knuckles and flipped it over. His mouth tightened into a grim smile at the bold straight line of the embossed letters “Well, I’ll be—”  
  
            Although tempted to throw it in the garbage, he recognized the unspoken challenge. Retreating was against his principles. He had spent much of his life climbing impossible slopes under impossible conditions, and it wasn't in him to cut and run. His head ached with a firestorm of activity. But in the end, excuses and motives burned away, and he was left with one inescapable truth. He had reached a crossroad.   
  
******“The important thing is this: To be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become.** _ **”** __C.Dubois_

 

Ch.11 (Justin's POV)

 **"Conscience is the internal perception of rejection of a particular wish operating within us."** _S.Freud_  
    
             I don’t remember how I got back to the loft. Everything is a blur. I _do_ remember that I stumbled into the bathroom and peered into the mirror. Could I see the changes outside that were tearing me up inside? Nope. Nothing different, nothing unusual. How weird that the repercussions from such a significant event couldn’t be seen. Although in a twisted way it makes sense. I'm the one who has to live with the consequences and the guilty conscience. 

             I crawled into bed with so many questions and no answers. I'm not proud of my actions, and I'd erase them if I could, but I wish I knew why I did it. Was it an emotional need to connect or a simply a physical need to fuck? Did I have something to prove to myself or to Brian? Or, as he demonstrated so effectively after Jason Kemp’s murder, was it the thrill that attracted me, that enticed me to roll the dice with my future? God, I hope not.

                                                                 

** Betrayal has to be acknowledged by its proper name: betrayal. It has to be admitted, not swept under the rug and not defended in order for both to heal.  **

             My gut tells me Brian surmises. For someone who still announces to anyone who’ll listen that he doesn’t do relationships, he's freakishly tuned in to what I do, say, or feel. He seems to sense me on every level. I mean, how ironic that he was already in bed, feigning sleep, when I got home that night, instead of being at Kinnetik until all hours? There honestly is a fucked up God. Even with our stupid self-imposed curfew, he doesn't sleep, really sleep until I’m home. His breathing has a certain rhythm when he’s in a deep sleep, another when he’s in a light sleep, and a different one when he’s pretending, like the nights I was at Babylon. For the record? I can’t fall asleep until he’s home either.  
  
             Desperate to silence my brain, I shoved my face in the pillow. Sometimes the noise is so loud, I want to rip my head off. But it's part of my life now, in addition to headaches, nightmares that feel like reality and reality that feels like nightmares, loss of motor control, and a black hole of invisible memories. The last one hurts a lot. I’d love to revisit the prom, pull it out of my mental vault and wrap it around me when I need to remember _that_ Brian, the ridiculously romantic one.  
  
_“How they danced in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat,_ _some dance to remember, some dance to forget._  
_ Mirrors on the ceiling, pink champagne on ice,_ _We’re all just prisoners here of our own device.”_ _©_ _Frey,Henley,Felder_

             I guess overall, everything's better. People don’t wear self-conscious looks anymore when they talk to me or walk on eggshells because they're not sure if I’m going to freak out. Some days I feel like I’m back to normal, but then there are nights...  
  
            “Justin! Justin!” Who the fuck was yelling?  
  
             I bolted up, drenched in sweat, with a razorblade of pain in my skull. My heart pounded so fiercely I thought my chest would split open. Brian was grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. “Justin, it’s okay. Wake up.”  
  
             Holding my head, I rocked back and forth and after a few deep breaths, my heartbeat slowed. I concentrated on controlling my voice before I spoke, afraid I’d sound hysterical and manic. Brian doesn't handle emotion well, least of all hysterical and manic. “What happened?”  
  
             He wiped the damp strands of hair from my forehead. “You were having a nightmare.”  
  
             When I found the strength, I raised my head. God, if I looked as bad as he did, we were in trouble. The blackened stubble of his chin couldn't hide the tightness in his jaw. He shifted his gaze to the floor and ran his hands over his face, as if struggling what to do next. I guess he decided because he pulled me close and I melted into him.  
  
             We didn't move until he gently separated us. “Do you need to start the meds again?”  
  
            “No.” Meds wouldn’t be able to help this. They couldn't help this. I nestled back into his arms and a tear dripped down my cheek. He held me, rubbing my back, as I tried to flush my guilt away. It didn’t work.  
  
_“It won’t be easy, you’ll think it strange_ _when I try to explain how I feel._ _That I still need your love after all that I’ve done.”_ _©Weber,Rice_  
  
             The flood slowed to a trickle and eventually stopped. That seemed to be the cue he was waiting for. He put one hand on my shoulder and tipped my chin up with the other. “You need to tell me one thing,” he said, his eyes searching mine.  
  
           “What?” I was so scared. What was he going to say? All I wanted to hear was that I mattered, that _we_ mattered. How I needed those words, especially now.  
  
            “You have to tell me everything is all right, really all right.” His unspoken question, the one he wanted to ask but didn’t, hovered in the air like a brewing storm cloud. Unless my guilty conscience brings the subject up, I'm sure neither of us will mention it..  
  
             When I look back on that moment, I probably should have left. Because everything wasn't all right. And he knew it. But I think he wanted me to let him off the hook, absolve him of blame by shifting the responsibility to me like he did in another time and place, “It's your call where you want to be. You decide.”  
  
             I twisted a corner of the sheet between my fingers and gave him the answer he wanted. I plastered a smile and said in a reassuring voice. “Of course everything’s all right. It was just a nightmare.”  
  
             He dropped his hand and I could see the relief wash over him because i _t was just a nightmare._ Nothing more. He wouldn't have to admit he was part of our problem. I don’t think he’d know how. He'd have to open up too much and he can't do that. I don't know if he'll ever be able to. So the mask stays in place.  
  
             Because of all the shit going on, I keep putting us under a mental microscope, trying to analyze and understand what was, what is, and what could be. What if if all we ever had was the sex? Our physical connection has always defied description. We’re sluts for each other. We never run out of new places, never lose our creativity. But maybe our relationship has been nothing more than style without substance, a house of cards imploding after one too many hits over the years. To come so far after all we've been through and now...  
  
             I have to take control of my life. If I don’t, I’m going to be waiting and wondering—waiting for the next blow up and wondering if it will be the one that finishes us off for good. I can’t let that happen.  
  
                     _“Too much love will kill you, just as sure as none at all._ _It’ll drain the power that’s in you, make you plead and scream and crawl._  
                      _And the pain will make you crazy._ _You’re the victim of your own crime. Too much love will kill you every time.”_ _©B.May_

 _S_ upplement: Description of Justin's nightmares here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/868300>

 

Ch. 12 (The Warren Alper Chronicles P.4)

                                                                    We cannot change anything until we accept it. _C. Jung_

 **“Acceptance of what has happened is the first step to overcoming the consequences of any misfortune.”** _W.James_

 _  
_ Bone tired after a week of four new patients, one emergency and one conference, Warren needed to turn off his brain and turn on his body. He couldn't wait to kick back and relax on the weekend. Two days of mindless leisure was just the ticket. But a more immediate yet equally pleasurable indulgence interrupted his daydream, the scent of freshly brewed coffee.  
  
            “I thought you could use this about now.” Laura placed the piping hot Starbucks on the desk.  
  
            “Mmm. How’d you guess?” He inhaled the rich aroma, savoured the first taste, and exhaled an appreciative sigh. Sometimes the simplest things could produce a most satisfying effect on the body. _  
_  
             She made herself comfortable in the chair next to his desk and opened her appointment book. “After the week from hell, I figured coffee was one of the favored items on your hit list."

             He eyed her suspiciously over the rim. “Or was it because you wanted one of your disgusting latte drinks?”  

            “That, too,” she admitted. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for good advertising.” Her eyes crinkled. “I’ll even be very Emily Post-like and not mention your other favored items.”

            “You're too kind, Laura. Okay, what do we have?” He sipped the hot liquid as they went through their scheduled summary of the week.  
  
            “Fini!” She closed her book with a snap and headed toward the door.  
  
             He caught her sympathetic look. “What's the matter?”  
  
             Her appraisal poured over him with the same attention to detail she used in her job. “You work too hard, you know. Only one more. Should I send him in?”  
  
            “Please.” Alone in his office, he ran a hand through his hair. He had discovered another gray strand in the shower and while he liked to think he wasn't a vain person, he gave it a fierce pluck. He envied Alex’s premature silver locks. By some quirk of fate, he had been spared the coarse texture that often accompanied the change in color. The nerve endings in his fingertips skittered at the memory of its softness.  
  
             A soft knock broke through his reverie. “Come in.” The door inched open like always when this particular patient arrived.  
  
            “Justin! Glad you could make the appointment. Laura mentioned there was a problem with your schedule.”  
  
            “Yeah, things were a little hectic this week, and I wasn't sure if I could keep it.”  
  
            “No problem! Please, have a seat. Want anything?”  
  
            “Sanity and a clear conscience would be nice.”  
  
             A throaty chuckle bubbled up at the remark. For someone who had experienced more than his share of suffering, there was something beguiling about this tortured young man. After their first session, he had made discreet inquiries to fill in the blanks. He contacted various trusted sources, including Alex who, over dinner and a bottle of Barolo at their favorite Italian restaurant, provided a wealth of knowledge.

                                                                                                  * * *  
                                              “I really am sorry for throwing this on you, Warren, but I’m not the right one to handle it.”  
  
                                              “So you automatically thought of me? How considerate, Dr.Wilder. Remind me to repay the  
                                               favor sometime.” He shivered as they left the restaurant and pulled his coat tighter against  
                                               the chill. Winter was making itself known with a vengeance this season. Right. Who was he  
                                               kidding? The frisson through his body had nothing to do with the weather.  
  
                                              “Hey, that’s what friends are for.”  
  
                                              “Well, I’d better get going. I want to write notes before I forget. Not that I’ll remember everything.  
                                               There’s enough to fill a fucking medical journal about the two of them.”  
  
                                               Alex grinned as he opened his car door. “If anyone can help, you can. Great seeing you again,  
                                               Warren. Stay in touch, okay?”  
  
                                              “Good to see you, too. Yeah, yeah I will. And seriously, thanks.”  
  
                                              “You have your work cut out for you. If you need more information, let me know.”  
                                                                                                * * *        

             He smiled at Justin. “Well, you’re obviously in the right place for sanity. At least, I hope so.”  
  
            “You have helped, and I do feel better in general, but nothing's changed. He’s still hardly ever home. And when he is, he isn't. He's either on the computer or he ignores me. He's shutting me out, and if I say anything, we wind up in an argument.”  
  
            “These situations don’t resolve themselves over night because they didn"t happen overnight. When you throw in Brian's professional stress, it will take even longer. You do understand, don’t you?”  
  
            “Sure. But I hoped it would be better by now.”  
  
            “It takes time. We’ve discussed this and also how some of the problems are a result of the difference in your ages.” The issue was a thorny subject and he rushed to add, “That’s not a bad thing and it's not an insurmountable obstacle, but it does cause both of you to occasionally view or experience certain situations through different lenses.”  
  
            “Warren, I could show you—”  
  
            “Yes, I know. You’ve mentioned your SAT scores on more than one occasion,” he teased. “But there’s a difference between book smart and life smart and in your case, age is a contributing factor, whether or not you want to admit it.”  
  
            “I get it intellectually, but I have a problem accepting it emotionally.”  
  
            “Why?”  
  
            “I, I don’t know. I just do. It’s—”  
  
            “What? How does it make you feel?”  
  
             Justin gave one of the sofa cushions a vicious punch. “It makes me feel young, too young to keep him.”  
  
           “Well, you are young.”  
  
           “Thanks for the newsflash. But the thing is, it’s hard enough being with him without the whole age and life experience shit. I can’t help but think _—_ ”  
  
            “Yes?” Christ, this kid should be enjoying life, not sitting in this office with such sadness, on the verge of tears.  
  
             Words shot out like rapid fire bullets. “I can’t help but think that one day a sanity-sucking leech will attach itself to his brain and convince him that I'm not what he wants after all, that we have nothing in common _only_ because of the age difference, and he'll wonder why the fuck he stayed with me for so long. It scares me, Warren. It fucking terrifies me! It would be so like him to end everything because he found a fucking gray hair _—_ ”  
  
             He winced at the comment. _Ouch._ Neuroses had a way of haunting you.  
  
            “—or some crock of shit about not wanting to hold me back from 'experiencing life.' ”  
  
_“You’re still young._ _There’s so much you have to know. There’s so much you have to go through._ _Look at me, I am old.”_ _©C.Stevens_  
  
            “Let me ask you something, Justin _._ What if Brian weren’t in the picture at all?”

             The blond head jerked up. “What do you mean?”  
  
            “Take it easy. No reason to get nervous or upset. Here’s what I want you to do. Close your eyes. Go on,” he urged. “Close them.”  
  
              Justin squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers into the sofa arm.  
  
             “I need the sofa to last for a while, Justin. Relax. This isn’t a trick experiment. No pun intended. Now, take slow, deep breaths.” He kept his voice quiet and steady. “Inhale and exhale. That’s it. I want you to try and clear your mind. Pretend you’re drifting on an ocean. You're doing great. Keep floating, nice and relaxed. Okay, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to think before you answer. If you weren’t involved with Brian, what do you think you'd be doing at this stage in your life?”  
  
             The physical evidence of inner turmoil, the creased brow and scrunched eyelids, was impossible to miss. “I don't— I don't know.”  
  
            “Why not?”  
  
            “Well, it’s just that.…”  
  
            “Yes?”  
  
            “I’ve never given it much thought. He’s always been there. Even when I was with Ethan, he was there. He paid for my tuition, made sure I took the computer he bought for me. Fuck, he even packed it _._ He’s been a part of my life since I was seventeen.”  
  
            “Okay, let's switch gears. Stay on that calm ocean. You're floating. When you were a little kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”  
  
            “I always wanted to paint or draw.”  
  
            “Did you see yourself as famous or rich?”  
  
            “No, never. I just had to do it, like eating or breathing. Does that make sense?” His eyes flew open.  
  
            “Perfect. Let’s continue with that. What kind of a life did you envision?”  
  
            “Nothing specific. I mean, when I was really young, I thought about finding someone, getting married, having kids, making a living with my art.”  
  
_“Find someone, settle down, if you want to, you can marry._ _Take your time, think a lot.  
                                              __For you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not.”_ _©C.Stevens_  
  
            “Why is it different now?”  
  
            “It just is.”  
  
            “But why? Don’t you still have dreams for the future?”  
  
            “Well, I.…”  
  
             Time to nudge the comfort boundaries. “Are you saying you don't want those things anymore? Don’t want to find someone and get married?” he challenged.  
  
            “No. I mean yes. No, that’s not it at all!” Justin rocketed to his feet and once again attacked the carpet. “I did find someone.” His mouth tightened. “But he doesn’t want the same things."  
  
            “Like?”  
  
            “Like a family or marriage or anything that even remotely hints of attachment or a relationship.”  
  
            “And that's still important to you.”  
  
            “Yeah, I guess so.” Justin whirled around and exploded like a powder keg. “Do you know what he said when we had our last blow up? He said I wanted Kinnetik to run itself and make money by itself so we could ‘have wild and passionate sex and profess our undying love for each other.’” He faltered and struggled for control. “And live happily ever after in my fairytale world.”  
  
            “Are you sure you’re remembering correctly? The mind can play tricks on us.”    
  
            “It’s exactly what he said. You know why I remember?” His voice cracked. “Because he hurt me, Warren. He really hurt me this time. He was so cold. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like a broken record in my head.”  
  
_                                           “I’m hurt much more than you’ll ever know. _ _ I’m hurt because I still love you so. _  
_Hurt way down deep inside of me because of_ _those things you said to me.”_ _©Crane/Jacobs_  
             
            “Let me ask you another question. Are your desires important enough to look for them with someone else?”  
  
            “What do you mean with someone else? You mean leave Brian for good?”  
  
            “Yes, that's precisely what I mean.” He studied his body language like a hawk to gauge his reaction. “To give yourself the opportunity to find a person who shares your dreams and has the same goals, to give yourself the freedom to choose.”  
  
            “I did choose! I chose Brian!”  
  
            “But why?” he pushed. “Why did you choose him? Why do you _stay_ with him if he doesn't want what you want?”  
  
            “Because.…”  
  
            “Yes?”  
  
            “Because when I’m with him, I'm alive. It's like he's a part of me.”  
  
            “Even though you and he are total opposites in ways that truly matter in a relationship?” If they were going to unlock the problem, honesty was the key.  
  
             Justin gave a conflicted nod.  
  
           “Why?” He resisted the impulse to hurry him along. Patients had to reach into their troubled souls and pull out the truth themselves. But their depth of pain could sometimes prevent them from objectively seeing the whole picture.   
  
             At the faint dawn of comprehension, Justin's expression changed. He shifted on the sofa and cleared his throat. “Because I love him. I think I always have from that first night. Even with Ethan, I knew in my heart I still loved him. Everyone can make excuses and give explanations for my feelings—I was only seventeen, t was my first time, he took advantage of me—but I don’t want to hear, particularly from him _,_ that it’s not love. Because that’s exactly what it is.” He gave a shy smile. “Sounds like a bad movie, but it’s true.”  
  
_“Ever since he touched my hand I knew that near him I always must be  
                                                And nothing can keep him from me. He is my destiny.” __©Pourcel/Mauriat_  
  
             The blue eyes turned meditative. “Because the thought of a future without him makes my skin crawl, makes me physically ill. “Because he makes me a better person and I hope I make him better, too. Because no matter how hard, some things, some _people_ are worth fighting for if you want them badly enough. And how you weather the storms determines what your long-term forecast will be.”  
  
**“No law or ordinance is mightier than understanding.”** _Plato_  
  
            “Well, I wouldn’t have put it so metaphorically, but yes, pretty much.” The corner of Warren's mouth quirked. He stood and leaned against his desk with his arms folded. “One last question before we end the session. Is Brian intimidating you to stay with him?”  
  
            “Are you fucking kidding me? He’s made it crystal clear that if I wanted to leave, I knew where the door was.”  
  
            “Why do you think that is?”  
  
            “Because he has a warped idea about relationships. He doesn’t want any credit, doesn't want to take any blame—his misplaced guilt is a different story—doesn’t want to be responsible for anything so he puts it all on me. Everything is _my_ choice, _my_ decision. He doesn’t want to enter into the equation at all, which is really fucked if you ask me.”  
  
            “The way people act and react depends on their DNA and upbringing. The two are linked. They’re inseparable. One person’s DNA might cause him to react one way to situations in his environment, while someone else’s reaction might be totally different in the same environment.” He chose his words carefully. “It’s quite possible Brian knows he has problems. Maybe he’s even trying to work on them.”  
  
             Justin gave a bark of humorless laughter. “No fucking way! You don’t know him. He doesn’t make any excuses for what he does or says. You either take it or leave it.”  
  
           “Perhaps you and Brian should re-establish your relationship and your priorities without outside interference or distraction. Why don’t you plan a get-away, even for one night?”  
  
           “Brian doesn’t like surprises. It’s part of his whole control issue, one of his many.”  
  
            He glanced at his watch. “Well, do me a favor and think about what I suggested. See you next week?”  
  
           “Yeah, I’ll be here and thanks, Warren. Thanks a lot.” Justin paused on his way out. “Do you honestly think it’s that simple? We go away for a night or a weekend and everything is all right?” He sounded skeptical.  
  
           “Nothing is that simple. It’s not easy being in a relationship. It’s damned hard and making it work is twice as hard. The effort isn’t 50/50. It’s 100/100. And when difficult situations arise, the scales can tip unequally. It's never a level playing field. It's about give and take. Both of you have been through a lot and yet, you’re still together. That alone says something about your commitment to each other, even though it sounds as if Brian would never admit it. But I do think you have to re-connect. It won't hurt, and maybe it will help, but you won’t know unless you try. Mull it over and I’ll see you next week.”  
  
           _“If anything I might have just said has helped you carry on,_ _your rise uphill may no longer seem a struggle._  
            _There’s no such thing as failure for those who keep trying. Coasting to the bottom is the only disgrace.”_ _©J.Popper_

CONTINUED HERE: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/9258545>

 


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